Old Prince
by Icegazer
Summary: Vejiita is an old fart, and he's living among his gaggle of decendents, most of whom have forgotten or ignore that their heritige is not completely human.


Dragonball

In

Old Prince

By

Icegaze

Chapter One:

I am old, and crippled. My body shakes with the effort of movement, and it aches for sleep, rest, silence. My lungs wheeze to draw breath, my heart thumps dully, though consistently in my withered chest.

I look like a fucking raisin. Shit.

If old age didn't look so feeble, didn't leave a body shivering like a dead leaf in the wind, then my kind wouldn't have such problems with it. More of my people would survive past their prime as I have managed, though I have to admit on a planet this peaceful it wasn't much of a feat.

Chikyuu. Green, warm, teeming with life, noise, and really weak people – myself included damnit. I've sought solitude numerous times, however the only permanent solution to finding what I seek is to become a hermit. Unfortunately, my family doesn't share my wish and they've got me locked up in this stupid building until either I manipulate one of them into springing me, or I die. I'd prefer to leave on my own two feet thank you. I may be old, ugly, and weak, but I still can walk.

Ah, I miss my wife. I would never have admitted to that a half dozen years ago or so, but now I really don't give a damn. My pride remains, but the longer I live on this god-awful planet, the more of it leaves me. Just like my senses. I actually bounce my grandchildren's grandchildren on my bony knee. I get incredibly weird looks from the lot of them (save for the young ones who know nothing of the man I used to be save for the stories their parents tell them), but I don't care anymore. I like to see their beaming faces, innocent of the world's evils. The feel of their soft, pudgy skin, smooth and flawless, reminds me of my two children when they were this small. Although at the time any onlooker wouldn't begin to guess just how much pride I took in them, how much they really meant to me. I made it a point to affect an air of annoyed tolerance of their tiny presences.

I didn't touch my son until he was seven, never gave him any words of praise. Our relationship never was half as close as my rival and his sons. It never really bothered me until it was too late and the only thing that remained of him was his offspring. My daughter and I were much closer. I had begun to learn about care and affection and the showing of emotions beyond anger, contempt, irony, arrogance, and fear. She had me wrapped around her finger. She never looked for my approval, just demanded it. She never was unsure of my care for her – it was just something that went unspoken between the two of us. We knew. Why my son never knew, never truly without a doubt knew my feelings, yet my daughter, who I loved just as much never doubted, I'll never know.

I suppose it was my half of the blood that pumped through her dainty and perfect veins that made her more my child though she was a physical duplicate of her mother. She was more my kind than my wife's kind. I miss all three of them so very much.

I have reminders in their – and my – progeny. A great-grandson has his eyes, and her hair. A great-great-granddaughter has my black hair that never managed to show up until several generations later. My woman's genes are strong, just like she was. She was the strongest, most alive human on this whole bloody planet.

I visit her grave more and more often. I buried her beside her mother and father, and then our children beside her. Trunks' daughter now runs Capsule Corp, that shrewd minded little penny pincher. She runs the business like it was a warship, and I can't help but find a good deal of pride in her. She's got my passion of a fight, but too much of my woman's blood and looks to enjoy physically fighting. Sadly I good deal of my ungrateful descendents can't fight to save their lives. That was why Vejiita Jr. startled us all. Crafted in my spitting image he was a throwback to the way I used to be. Vicious, spiteful, vengeful, and violent he was a monster that made me weep with joy when he demanded - the arrogant little shit! - I train him. I almost protested the official cutting off of his tail. Who would have known how stubborn Saiyajin genes would be to allow so many generations of dilution to still posses the one trait the allows a physical distinction between humans and Saiyajin.

Ah, Vejiita Jr. The son I never had. I only wish he had popped his spiky head up earlier when I could have spent so much more time beating up on his puny little butt. Everyone knows how much he needed a good walloping to that smart-ass and loud mouth of his. I miss him nearly as much as I miss my own son. It was a great tragedy when he and his wife were lost in that vacationing accident. The wimp could fly and beat up everyone on the whole stinking planet yet couldn't survive a faulty plane engine, and a snowstorm in the mountains. Their bodies were never found. No one believes they survived, but I know my namesake and he's still alive. What in the world he's still doing in the bloody mountains is the answer that I demand.

Left behind were his two children - the aforementioned granddaughter with my hair, Tamanegi, and his son the blonde haired beach bum, Kabocha. He insists on being called Kabo, so of course I never call him that. After all, Vejiita Jr. named his children in the proper fashion of a Saiyajin, and after so many underwear names a good solid vegetable is like sugar on my tongue.

"Quit calling me that, Jiji!" Kabo howled in righteous frustration at the smug face of Papa Vejiita just as Tama sauntered into the kitchen. Kabo was piling a sandwich together for lunch and it swayed unsteadily while Kabo paid more attention to the shorter, much older male.

Papa Vejiita was a sight to behold and even at 17, she was still intimidated by him. His hair was snow white and upswept, his black eyes dark, brooding, and sparkling at the moment, utterly mischievous. As all old people faces tended to be, there were deep creases around his mouth. She'd been told that when he was younger he rarely smiled and would always frown, which explained the pronounced lines. Otherwise he looked young. He walked upright without the stoop shoulders or shuffle of everyone else's' grandparents. He stalked and sauntered like the best of them. The unbelievable part of it all was that Papa Vejiita was her great-great-great grandfather. No one in the entire world had a living great-great-great grandfather. It was as if Papa Vejiita scared Father Time into leaving him alone, maybe even Death. Why else would he still be here?

Was this how Papa would have looked like had he lived? Oh, she knew Papa was gone no matter how many sympathetic relatives told her in that too-cheery voice that Papa of all people would be able to survive a plane crash and blizzard. Yes, the Breifs family was a long-lived lot, but they weren't demi-human! Although she'd have to admit if someone told her that Papa Vejiita had taken on a plane crash and a blizzard and survived, she wouldn't doubt it for a moment.

"I call you by the name that you were born with, gaki. You father had enough sense in him to name you properly, so I'm going to honor that."

"Fine, whatever, Jiji." Kabo spat, and returned his attention back to his food. "Just don't expect me to answer to it."

Papa Vejiita simply smirked while crossing strong arms across his wide chest, which of course made Tama snicker, effectively brining all attention to her.

Kabo's face suddenly went glacial. "What do you think is so funny, imouto?"

"You," she returned glibly. "Got your dander up, 'nii-chan?"

Vejiita watched the siblings snipe and nip at each other. The two were so utterly different. Where Tama was black haired, black eyed, and pale, Kabo was blonde, blue eyed and tan. Tama's favorite color was black and it agreed with her. At the moment she had slid into a black miniskirt that would have done Bulma proud, a tight, intricate long sleeved shirt that had laces up the front and down the sleeves that belled around her small, slender hands. Her fingernails painted black of course. She wore thick, clunky black boots, and a black hat upon her black spiky hair. Her ears, eyebrows, nose and tongue were pierced - something Vejiita couldn't begin to fathom. And perhaps his favorite part was her mouth - it was distinctly Bulma's full mouth, painted midnight black. She proved a visual shock when seen in daylight and blended in silently to the shadows.

Kabo on the other hand was loud, obnoxious and very obviously his father's son in personality with his grandfather's looks. Trunks' daughter looked exactly like Bra and Bulma, and had married a blonde blue eyed police officer that had taken a liking to her after they had worked together on a new Capsule Corp. building's security system. Vejiita Jr. parents would have wondered if the infant had been switched at birth with their real son had he not looked exactly like Vejiita, or had the Saiyajin tail. Kabo liked loud colors to accent his perfectly tanned skin, and the only footwear Vejiita had spotted on his tan feet was either flip-flops or sandals.

Tired of listening to them bicker with each other, Vejiita straightened, shoved off from the countertop - cursing himself an old fart for needing that shove off - then stalked off to the Gravity Room. While it wasn't the sanctuary that it once posed as, he did enjoy the daily ritual of wearing himself out after lunch. He'd be damned if he turned into a fat geezer. The geezer part he couldn't help.

Tama caught up with Vejiita as he performed his monthly visit to the Briefs family graveyard. Vejiita liked to keep up a little bit of appearance by not visiting everyday like he wanted to more and more lately. However, he couldn't postpone the visits for longer than a month or he got sappy and emotional. Just approaching the area where his wife was laid to rest brought him back to his angry, irritable self. He didn't save her, he wasn't able to spend his life with her and that frustrated him. He ended up cussing and growling at Bulma's headstone and although he had the urge to kick it to the ground and defile it, he could never muster up enough anger.

Even in death he respected her.

"What was she like?"

Vejiita's head swiveled around with lightning speed, his body poised to pounce or flee. When he spotted Tamanegi standing a respectful distance away with her hands jammed in her pockets, her face pulled down in a formidable scowl, Vejiita relaxed.

Turning back to the grave in an attempt to effect ignorance of her presence, Vejiita glared at Bulma's tombstone wondering how long it would take him to break down and spill his guts to a willing listener. Tama was, luckily, more impatient.

"What was Bulma like?" Tama asked again as if she was afraid in his old age, he hadn't heard her, then shuffled a few steps forward.

"Stupid." Vejiita snorted finally once Tama was kneeling near by though not within touching distance. Tama was too intimidated by him to get any closer, but too prideful and curious to stay away.

Tama blinked, not expecting that kind of response. "But-"

"She was prideful, argumentative, loud, obnoxious, selfish, demanding," Vejiita continued to glare at his mate's head stone.

Tama remained silent, not knowing how to respond.

"She was my queen, my equal in all things and that pissed me off." Vejiita reached out and his face softened a fraction as he trailed a weathered finger over the letters of his wife's name. "I had seen it all, done it all, killed without mercy and enjoyed myself. I ate the flesh of my victims and bathed in their blood. I got a power trip out of destroying planets and dominating an opponent. I enjoyed watching people squirm under my gaze and I loved being able to tell people what to do, and then watching them scurry to do it."

But then came Bulma. Ever since the beginning she was something different. She was a completely new and uncharted experience that I had never had before. I told her to jump and she told me to jump off a bridge. I demanded her to respect me, she demand respect first. I railed at her and she railed right back. When we fought it was with words, not with our fists and I loved it. I loved watching her blue eyes flash and glare and her pouting mouth call me a thousand rude and harsh names. She was an aphrodisiac. It wasn't until she touched me that I realized that I wanted her in a sexual way too. And when she started touching me, we didn't stop. When she got pregnant, I thought I was finished with my yearning for her and went about my business. When there was no one left to fight I realized that I had never finished with her. The first time had only been the beginning."

We had another child and she grew old. She died and left me alone here to watch our children have children and those children have children. Now I'm old and I miss her. Maybe it's me that's the stupid one."

When Vejiita finally looked his descendent in the eye, what he saw there unnerved him. She was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. He was expecting her to stare with pity, maybe compassion, but not as if he had two heads.

"I never knew…" Tama whispered, "I never knew you were so human, Papa Vejiita."

Vejiita flinched as if he'd been slapped. The wrinkles in his face deepened as he scowled ferociously. "I'm not a human, gaki! I'm the Saiyajin no Ouji. A prince! Stuck on this disgustingly sweet and peaceful planet going soft and old and ugly by the day! I should be dead right now. I should have led a glorious life of battle and blood. I should have died while fighting a powerful opponent. But, no, I have to watch as my family lives like humans, loves like humans, and dies like humans. No one but your father has true Saiyajin blood in them. They might have the tail, but they don't have the spirit. It's pitiful to be the last, to watch your own race be smothered by a weaker race through something as simple and harmless as breeding."

Vejiita grabbed Tama's arm and squeezed. "Each and every one of you is so powerful I can't even begin to imagine your potential. Vejiita Jr. went Super Saiyajin when he was two because he was cranky and needed a nap. I went Super Saiyajin when I was twenty-six because I hated myself, my weakness. Even you could go Super Saiyajin."

"Super… Saiyajin? Papa Vejiita what are you talking about?"

"You're not human, my little gaki. You have my blood flowing in your veins and I'm not human. I'm a Saiyajin."

"What do you mean I'm not human?" Tama jerked her arm our of Vejiita's grip, startling him that she could. "Of course I'm human. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you tell me insane lies. Old age is starting to catch up to you, old man."

Instead of being threatened and angered by her words as she was by his, he smirked at her, haughty. "Then tell me what that scar on your back is all about?"

"It's a birthmark." Tama snorted. "It's a genetic birthmark - Kabo has one, Papa had one. Everyone in the Breifs family has one."

"It's not a birthmark, gaki! It's your tail. When you were born I cut it off myself. With a tail my kind would never be accepted into human society. You'd have been considered a freak, and Bulma didn't want that so she cut off Trunks and Bra's tails. When Trunks and Bra had children themselves, Bulma turned the cutting of the tail into a ceremony. Before a child born with a tail in this family is named, the tail must be cut off. When Bulma died, the family turned to me to do the insipid cutting. Because they have grown up as a human they themselves see the tails as a freakish mutation. It's a pity that what my kind used to pride themselves of is now nothing more than an unwanted eyesore."

The Saiyajin tail is the source of all of our powers. Without our tails we are more vulnerable. With them, we're ten times as strong. I'd grow mine back if I knew how to."

"You're lying. You're making all of this up," Tama shook her head and took a trembling step backwards though she never took her eyes off of her ancestor.

"Am I? Don't tell me you've never been curious why your so-called "birthmark" isn't dark pigmented skin but silky fur-like hair. You've never wondered why everyone else seems so weak because they whimper that you've hurt them when all you have done was give them a healthy pat on the back? You've never been in awe of the fact that you can crush and twist the metal of a doorknob in your hand or slam a door into splinters when throwing a temper tantrum?"

Tama stared, struck speechless her eyes unfocused.

"I see I've hit a mark. Do you begin to question now? Ask your grandparents. Ask anyone living in Capsule Corp. who and what a Saiyajin is and what that birthmark really means. Ask your brother about it. Ask him what he's seen your father do. Ask what a Super Saiyajin means to him."

"NO!" Tama screamed at the top of her lungs. She spun around and raced off to the Capsule Corp. building looming over them and the family graveyard.

Vejiita turned back to Bulma's tombstone, then, pressing a kiss to his fingertips, brushed the stone before following his descendent into the building.


End file.
